Time went on. Seconds passing into minutes, minutes to hours, hours to weeks, and weeks into a month. Our daily schedule remained the same, with long intervals between feeding and the loud chaos. I watched many dogs be taken out of the room and only around half of them ever returned. I saw my black-furred neighbor be taken, and when he returned gruesome wounds were etched upon his body. 

I observed the twin pups, the next cage over, learn to walk, open their eyes, and listen to the world for the first time. Luckily their ears unsealed in the middle of the night when it was the quietest. Their opened eyes revealed matching pairs of maple irises. Their voices were shrill, and we would occasionally race across a long stretches near where the bars met. 

A week ago I had practically master the dog language, but I didn't get to talk to battle-wound neighbor. After recently being taken out and returning with a limp, he had been in a sour mood.

Although today was going to be slightly different. Today was the day I would get my name! Dogs tended to wait around six to seven weeks before naming their pups. This was to ensure that they didn't get to attached to any weak pups that would die in the first day. 

Currently, Mother was sitting in the corner with a thoughtful expression plastered on her muzzle. I stamped my feet impatiently. When I finally saw the family next door gathering to watch the ceremony. 

Recently, Mother had become friends with the other mom. Once a day, they would talk about things in their previous life, before they got captured. I never really listened because their conversations were so boring!

My mother let out a sharp woof and us pups circled around her. I decided to cast a nervous glance over to the black-furred neighbor. He returned my gaze and I quickly turned away. The twin pups were excitedly perched, about to spring into action. They were also receiving their names a little early.

The other mother introduced herself as Fox, and started off the ceremony.

"In this land of despair and suffering, we can find hope in the next generation. These pups have been raised in captivity that is unspeakably evil compared to normal. I shall hope that one day they will break free and be able to live in a world that doesn't torment them. A world where dogs aren't caged up just to be put into a fighting ring!" She yelled the last part, and other dog barked their support. Us pups just nodded in agreement, even though we were all clearly confused.

"Fox! You are scaring the pups, don't introduce them to these forgein, and scary concepts this way," Mother warned. I squinted at the adults.

"Of course, Ginger. I'm sorry," she apologized to Mother. "Anyways, if you are to go into the world, then you must first have names of your own," she finished excitedly.

Mother, nosed my older brother forward, and stared at him happily. This was the first time that she had been happy, since she had been here. "Son, you are the oldest and biggest pup. You must protect your siblings with these abilities, if you ever need to. Your black coat is the reason that I shall name you Night." Night bounce up and down crowing his name.

Fox went next, addressing her female pup. "You are a beautiful pup, with a  special trait at being wonderful with words. Your smooth brown coat practically demands that you will be named Fawn. You are a kind and generous pup, I can already tell," she finished proudly.

Fox spent a minute finalizing her decision for the other pup, before bursting out the beginning of his naming speech. "You are named Oak. You are destined to be mighty, but never let your ambitions over crowd your ability to think through a situation." Oak started to wrestle with Fawn, overly happy. Fox gave them a cuff to the ear, and they split apart to watch the others be named. 

My sister grinned as she strutted over to be given her name. She tilted her small head upwards, proudly, to gaze at Mother. "My sweet daughter, Fox tells me that we have a stunning resemblance. I would agree, but I have only ever seen my reflection a few times. I can tell you have quite a motherly instinct when you watch over your other siblings. I think the name Prairie will fit you just fine." Prairie licked Mother's chin appreciatively.

Mother stepped closer to my last sibling. His worried eyes flickered to my face, and I gave him an assured nod. He attempted to look brave, but I could tell how nervous he was. "My last son, you may be the youngest but your potential is sky-high. Your nervous qualities will ensure you always lookout to threats that could harm you and your siblings. I have chosen the name Basil for you, cause you just add so much to this family in your quiet way."

Mother slowly turned to me and I saw a glimmer of sadness sweeping through her gaze. "And you...you are so much like him," she said with a slight quiver. "Your father wore the same grey coat of fur. Just as Prairie is similar to me, you are similar to him. You have his beautiful amber eyes, and white mask over your snout. You clearly also have his adventurous spirit, and no doubt his bravery. In debt to his memories I shall name you..." Mother choked back a sob, "...after a bird like your father, Hawk, was. Lark, welcome to the family." My eyes welled with tears of joy from being named, and sadness because I knew that Hawk, my father, was dead!

"Pups," Fox called, "Your names will guide you and provide a light in the dark. These are simply words we call ourselves by, but they will evolve into a huge part of you. When  one hears you name, you must make them think of all your great characteristics, not wrong doings. Pups you are our future, but never forget your past."

A howl arose, cutting the silence, like a knife. This howl was filled with sadness, but tinged with pride. I gazed over to my unknown neighbor. 

His muzzle that was speckled with gray, was raised letting out the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. I realized that this was part of the welcoming that followed the naming ceremony. Dogs around the kennels flung their voices into the abyss of quiet, in unison. Instead of harsh biting barks of anger, their musical tone warmed my little body. I let loose my squeaky voice, and let it intertwine itself with the rest. 

The sound flowed like a river, hushing all other sounds, and overlapping the feelings of fear and anger that previously swamped the room.

I suddenly came to the realization that my neighbor had been listening to the whole ceremony, and I may have gained a friend without my knowing. Cause even grumpy, old, damaged dogs need friends!